Chloe watched as Lucifer rolled the cigarette with the kind of effortlessness only muscle memory affords. He brought the paper to his mouth and licked its edge, sealing it, his eyes on hers, one eyebrow quirked.
“You’re a pervert,” she laughed.
“All I did was look at you. I’m not responsible for your filthy mind.”
Grinning faintly, he jabbed the joint between his lips and flicked his lighter to life. The end of the cigarette sparked orange-red as he drew in a deep lungful of smoke and held it—and held it some more—before blowing a circle of smoke past Chloe’s left cheek.
"Your turn," he said, passing her the joint.
Chloe held it between her fingers and stared. She’d tried cannabis a few times when she was younger, and it had always made her feel sick or anxious. Somehow, Lucifer convinced her this was a travesty that must be remedied, and so here they were, dressed in nothing but their underwear, lounging by his hot tub in the afternoon sun.
Water bottles, a bowl of grapes, and two bags of chips were laid out between them. Soft trip-hop lilted from his sound system. As usual, he’d thought of everything that might maximize pleasure.
“I promise to make sure you have a good trip,” he said. “Besides, it’s impossible to feel bad on this ganja.”
“You know the grower?” she guessed.
“Intimately,” he said, nabbing the joint back briefly to take another puff. “He’s the best around. Very stingy about who he sells to, though. Oh, and did I mention he’s very handsome?”
She snorted. “You grew this, didn’t you? This is actual Devil's Lettuce.”
“Try it,” he said, ignoring her question and thereby answering it. “Trust me.”
Those words always worked, because of course she trusted the Devil.
Bringing the joint to her lips, she took several timid puffs before coughing and handing it to him. He shook his head and forced it back into her hand. With a patience she didn’t often see him exhibit outside of the bedroom, he taught her how to draw the smoke into her mouth, hold it, then pull it deep into her lungs. It felt different, smoother, and she didn’t cough.
“Okay, I get it now,” she said, grinning.
He grinned with her. “No, but you will soon enough.” He made a grabby hand. “Now, don’t bogart that joint, darling.”
As Lucifer continued to puff away, her own high eased onto her not unlike his mouth in the dark of night. Soft, but with the right amount of hungry insistence that had a way of making her feel like all was right in the world. Closing her eyes, she slipped deeper into the sensation, feeling the warmth of the sun and the steam rising from the hot tub.
"Bloody hell," Lucifer sighed, his head thunking back against his lounge chair.
Chloe cracked open an eye. “What’s wrong?” What could possibly be wrong?
"Nothing. I didn't..." He seemed to lose his train of thought, which Chloe found very funny. "Didn't factor how you'd affect me." He groaned somewhat delightedly and chuckled.
She smiled. It thrilled her, how she affected him. To know he was the Devil, to know he wanted her above all others, was a high of its own that had done wonders for her self-esteem. And while she didn’t like how vulnerable her presence made him in their line of work, she didn’t mind it here, in the safety of their bubble.
Carefully, she rose and went to him. He looked at her with dark, hooded eyes, a lazy smile curling his mouth. Straddling his thighs, she leaned forward and kissed him gently—once, then twice. She felt how he tried to return the kiss, but couldn’t make his lips purse. He could only smile as she loved him.
“Do you feel good?” he asked, fingers trailing down the backs of her thighs.
“The best,” she said, against his mouth.
A soft snap, a cool breeze. His wings drooped to the ground on either side of the chair, looking as relaxed as the rest of him. The warm, orange glow of sunset turned them golden.
“Bit premature,” he laughed, and struggled to stop, which only served to get Chloe started.
“Leave them,” she chuckled, her fingers caressing a long, silken feather.
The corners of his eyes crinkled in knowing amusement. “Whatever you desire.”